


A Thousand Raps

by Keenir



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-25
Updated: 2010-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:59:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keenir/pseuds/Keenir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in the wake of 2 DAYS 2 NIGHTS, Malcolm and Hoshi must repair what had been damaged...</p><p> </p><p>the title is taken with great respect from the Egyptian proverb, "A thousand raps on the door, but no salute or invitation from within." I'll try to explain the meaning in the story...</p><p>characters: Malcolm, Hoshi, Second; brief mention of Trip, Travis, T'Pol...and the Afar & Huichol tribes of Earth. only respect is intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> words in bold are alien languages.
> 
> words in italics are thoughts.
> 
> words in normal print are - well, normal. :)

The Seyhuukien were pretty humanoid, though 'pretty' wasn't a good descriptive. Their hair and hands were covered in trimmed-short quills, and their voices sounded like a woman speaking while a man gargled. Because of the quills, their clothing looked vaguely like a sarong...vaguely so.

Several of the local Seyhuukien were slicing into coconut-sized melons, cracking the fruits with beaver teeth. The ones eating were holding a brisk conversation among themselves at the same time - unlike humans, they could talk and eat without the risk of choking.

Hoshi was learning the proper Seyhuukien languages a mile further inland; languages unchanged by extraterrestrial loan words. _I should be there with her,_ Malcolm thought to himself. _But I don't think she'd want me around._

"Here," said Second, holding out a stick to Malcolm. On the pointy end of the stick, there was a writhing insect, the sort of fat grub that made up a goodly portion of the Seyhuukien diet. "You be liking this," in broken English, picked up from watching Enterprise crewmen.

Second was the second-in-command of this local tribe; the woman who normally was in absolute command of this tribe, she was giving birth, so Second was in command right now. Half the tribe was with Second, the other half was out of sight, keeping guard over the laboring leader.

"Thank you," Malcolm said, accepting the impaled grub from Second. Though I'm a bit out of practice with eating raw bugs. "Um, do you mind if I warm this up a little? A little fire...?" not wanting to offend their culinary habits.

"Fire?" Second asked, intrigued by the new word. "Demonstrating?" telling Malcolm that fire wasn't used by Seyhuukien, as their wrists and faces glowed in the dark. The fact that they were purely nocturnal made for an eerie scene, as Mayweather had stated earlier.

Malcolm nodded, and made a tiny fire with the dry leaf litter which lay nearby; he was careful to make sure it couldn't spread. And, hearing whispers among the group, he hoped that nobody was going to equate him with Prometheus.

When Malcolm sat back down, the little fire burning steady on its own, "Where are your husbands?" Second inquired as she removed part of her 'sarong'. Not much of it, but enough for little leech-like things to be visible on her soft leather skin.

With a perfectly straight face, Malcolm replied, "I am a husband."

Seyhuukien eyes didn't widen the way human eyes did - the skin around a Seyhuukien's eyes puckered upwards, rolling away from the eye. Fortunately, it was something not done often, or for more than a few seconds.

A rustle of gargling voices and chattering quills filled the campfire scene, until, in awe, Second spoke. "Were you pulled off?"

Malcolm very nearly answered Yes, though just in time he realized that Second was speaking literally _. Well, I don't think Hoshi equates me with a leech just yet_. "No. No, I wasn't pulled off." _I don't think I'm going to be here long enough to explain 'estranged' to them._ "Humans aren't in constant physical contact with their spouses."

Second put her hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "Poor, sorry, unfortunate," she said. "Is your - spouse - in area?" removing her hand from his shoulder.

"Yes, she is," Malcolm said.

One of the other Seyhuukien grumble-gargled something to Second, who translated to Malcolm: "If humans do not have contact, how be humans spoused?"

 _Hooo boy,_ Malcolm thought to himself. "Many human cultures have a tradition called 'marriage'. In it, two or more people agree to live together, contacting only their spouses," using their meaning of 'contacting'. _And sometimes the concept works, sometimes it doesn't,_ Malcolm thought, remembering recent events. _What had it been?_ Malcolm wondered. _Was it really a matter of shore leave? Is that why?_

"Is proximity a substitute for contact?" Second asked. Malcolm was starting to wonder if Second had been learning English from T'Pol.

"It can be," Malcolm said, not sure where the conversation was going. He'd been learning about them, in the way they asked, in what they focused on; just as they'd been learning from him. The new, and to him unknown, turn in conversation...it made him nervous.

Second put her 'sarong' back on, gurgling something to the others, who nodded enthusiastically. To Malcolm, Second said, "Go to spouse. We are escorts to destination."

"Are you sure?" Malcolm asked. Second literally bristled, a reaction, Malcolm had learned earlier, to being doubted. "Okay, okay. But she's at least a mile away."

Second's bristles lay flat against her skin. "Not far," making Malcolm wonder if Seyhuukien were migratory.

 _Looks like my summers with the Afar and Huichols are going to come in handier than I'd thought,_ he said to himself as he started walking, with Second and the others leading the way, and a few trailing behind to watch for approaching dangers.

Thinking about the Afar only reminded Malcolm of how he'd met Hoshi, the linguist who had been struggling to learn the language under the scorching heat of the desert. Malcolm had been an intermediary, translating her requests, while in his spare time, he'd taught her the language. A friendship had been born that day.

A friendship that'd grown. And grown, blossoming into something wonderous to both of them.

Only the Enterprise had thrown a spanner into the works. So they'd agreed to feign ignorance of one another, pretending to meet for the first time.

Yet their every casual touch was still electric.

And yet, the feigning had risks of its own. Hoshi knew that we couldn't spend every shore leave together . . . people'd start asking questions. What better cover than 'going bar-hopping with Trip,' to hide the truth?

 _Bugger! She was right - I shouldn't have cared about questions. Mum would say that Hoshi's right to cold-shoulder me for a while, a while. It's been over two weeks since I've even gotten so much as a 'Good afternoon, Lieutenant' from Hoshi's wonderful lips._

I've tried, and tried again. Swearing the ship's Chef to secrecy hadn't been easy, nor had getting Chef to make Hoshi's favorite foods. But nothing'd worked. If only she'd just tell me what she wants. I'd beg and plead if it would help any. She's turning into a cipher.

The mile passed with surprising quickness, free from any outside interuptions. And despite the temperate climate, Malcolm was in a cold sweat.

END?


	2. Trip, Tree, Bark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the title is taken with great respect from the expression "Between a tree and bark it's dangerous to poke your finger." I'll try to explain the meaning in the story...
> 
> the Journal is set right after '1000 Raps', while the rest of the story takes place after the events of 'Vox Sola'.

**JOURNAL OF MALCOLM REED**

No luck finding Hoshi on the Seyhuukien world; it turned out she'd already returned to the Enterprise by the time I arrived at the area she'd been working. And she isn't talking to me now that I'm back on the Enterprise either.

I have to find some way to apologize, something to do to make up for everything. But what?

But what?

 **JOURNAL ENTRY ENDS**

 

Captain Archer instructed me to escort the Naroob ambassador around the Enterprise. He also told me that, should the ambassador start weaving webs or leaving bits of itself around the ship, to take the ambassador directly to the shuttle bay for it to leave. After the last web-like alien we encountered, I don't blame the captain.

A Naroob looks like a cross between a salamander and a snail. I suppose we should be grateful that Naroob don't have slime trails.

But they do have a way of walking that I've never seen before. Somewhere between constant stumbling, wheeling around in somersaults, and shuffling...there's the Naroob method. Whumbles, yeah, that's a good word, Ensign Mayweather.

"And this is the Mess Hall," I say as I lead the ambassador into the room where we eat.

"Very clean," it remarks, and heads over to a plate half-full of food; probably left there by some folks abruptly called to fix something.

"Hey Malcolm," Commander Tucker says, following us in. "Gotta talk to you."

"I'm listening," I tell him, keeping an eye on the ambassador; I didn't know anyone could vacuum all that food up.

"What's going on?" Tucker asks me.

"I beg your pardon?" I ask. Where's this going?

"I couldn't help noticing how much you've been bothering Hoshi lately," he accuses me.

"I haven't bothered her," I respond. Have I?

"She's told you, in so many words, to leave her alone. She tried the silent treatment, she's tried avoiding you. What does she have to do - pour coffee down your shorts?"

I raise an eyebrow. "My shorts, Commander," I say dryly, "are most  
assuredly none of your concern."

"And Hoshi isn't any of yours."

"Were you absent the day your English class discussed paralels?" I ask, half-joking.

His hands form into fists. Ooh, getting angry, Commander? "Here's something that's probably never occured to you," Tucker tells me. "Hoshi doesn't like you. She doesn't want you around!"

"This is none of your affair," I say to him, as levelly as I can.

"And I don't think she wants one with you either." Two seconds later, Commander Tucker is unconcious and lying on the floor. Sorry, Commander, but that remark was most definately over the line.

The Naroob ambassador whumbles over an peers at the Commander with all those eyestalks. Half a dozen of the stalks then look up at me. "Courtship?" it asks.

"No," I tell it. "Just a disagreement." One of those eyestalks is holding a pencil, and it writes something down. Oh hell.

"Woof!" Porthos interupts us. First a few Naroob eyestalks look Porthos' way, then all of them do. Porthos wags his tail, smiling that canine grin of his, and the ambassador wags its own tail back.

Fortunately, Porthos has very good reflexes, or he'd be impaled right now . . . and I'd have to explain to Captain Archer just how a Naroob managed to smuggle a set of darts aboard the Enterprise. Porthos runs off, yipping for all he's worth.

"What did you just do?" I ask, as the ambassador starts to eat the darts from the Mess Hall floor. "And why?"

"I had wondered when I would be taken to your leader," the ambassador remarks. "That wondering has ended."

"But you'd already met Captain Archer," I say.

"A sexless creature," this Naroob says dismissively. "Just like everyone else on this ship,"   
With respect, ambassador, my sex life is none of your concern! "...save for the dignitary I have just encountered."

"So you tried to kill him?"

I have no idea if the raspy sound from the ambassador is its idea of laughter, or what.   
"Not kill." Dear Lord, if you're listening, please don't let this guy turn out to be part snail in his reproductive habits.

There's a grumble from Commander Tucker, who's waking up now. "Damn," he swears, then finds he's eye-to-eyes with a Naroob. "Afternoon," he says to the ambassador.

"On which planet?" the ambassador replies.

"Its just a figure of speech," Tucker replies. "Its how some of us say hello."

Just then, Captain Archer's voice over the intercomms asks us to get ready, since we're arriving at the Naroob homeworld.

Both myself and the Commander were selected by the Captain for an away mission to this planet. Hoshi came too, but Mr. Tucker deliberately sat between us, striking up a conversation with her.

So now, here we are, on a mountainside, surrounded by hundreds of Naroob, and feeling a buffetting wind coming on.

The ambassador, being nearest to us, makes it easy for us to see what's going on: the skin all over its tail is splintering, breaking apart... What is visible now, formerly under the tailskin, is a winged animal that spreads those wings and leaves the main body behind.

The same thing is happening all over the place on this planet. "A bunch of flying worms," Commander Tucker remarks.

Well, I think, it certainly does explain a few things.

Some of the Naroob are shooting darts into nearby members of their own species, which helps both of them stay balanced in the winds. Ones not using darts, they keep taking tumbles while their tails are trying to fly away.

I leave the Commander and Captain, and go over to where Hoshi's watching it all.   
"Hoshi," I tell her. She looks at me, but it's unarguably a glare. "I'm sorry."

She keeps glaring at me... This hell of mine, the hell of her never forgiving me is going to be eternal, isn't it?

...And then one eyebrow lifts. "Really?" she asks me.  
END?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the saying "Between a tree and bark it's dangerous to poke your finger" is an 'expression warning one not to get involved in the problems of people who are intimate with each other, such as married couples. Found in 'Perpetua and the Habit of Unhappiness' by Mongo Beti of Cameroon, 1974.' (thanks to the book AFRICAN PROVERBS AND WISDOM: A Collection for Every Day of the Year, From More Than Forty African Nations by Julia Stewart).


	3. Little by Little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little by Little.
> 
> note: the title is taken from a proverb from the Nyanja of Malawi, which says "Little by little, the tortoise arrives at the Indian Ocean." Hoshi says this, untranslated, in the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dedicated to Shishi, whose remark in FB inspired part of this.
> 
> POV Character: Hoshi.
> 
> sequel to both "trip, tree, bark" & "a thousand raps".
> 
> takes place following the season 2 premiere.

.

"Translator Sato," one of the locals says to me. They don't have names, or they consider names unimportant...something like that. "Do we exist to speak with one another?"

Very philisophical bunch, these people are. "Yes we can," I assure - him, I think. He-it, I think Dr. Phlox pronounced some of them...the ones with the feathered heads.

"What are 'kowz'?"

"Cows?" I ask.

"Yes."

I have a bad feeling about this, and I don't need to look at SubCommander T'Pol to know that her eyebrow's likely raised. "If I may ask back before answering," I say, using their culture's rules for conversation, "who did you hear that word from?"

"Lunch," he-it answers, every head feather ruffed up.

"Your lunch?"

"The swamp plant from your supposedly space-flying vessel informed me that one's tucker is one's food."

Swamp pl- Malcolm. "And Commander Tucker said something about cows to you?"

"Compared me with a cow," he-it replies. And that's odd, because the locals look like plucked chickens.

There's a little sound behind me, and I don't look, because everyone 'knows' that Vulcans don't laugh.

Quick, Hoshi, think! "A cow," I say, "is a creature from the planet that Commander Tucker comes from. A cow likes to sit and eat, while contemplating the universe."

"Truly?"

I nod. "Absolutely." God, I'm sorry about that white lie.

"Satisfactory," he-it replies, and waddles off - probably to debate the aesthetics of the word 'cow'.

"I wasn't aware, Ensign," T'Pol says to me, "that cows were such intellectual creatures. I have seen them on your world, and was not impressed by them."

There's nothing else I can do but shrug. "Your perception, SubCommander, not mine," and grin. Quick, Hoshi, walk away before she can figure out if you were snubbing her or not.

As I walk away, I can't help but notice Porthos chasing some of the locals, with other locals chasing Porthos, and an embarassed Captain Archer chasing his dog, but unable to even catch up with the locals. "Captain," I call over to him, "I don't think they want to hurt Porthos." He just nods, every breath appearantly being used for the run.

I just hope Porthos doesn't really think they're chickens.

I get a little ways into the woods, just to stretch my legs in a planetside walk, when I hear someone rushing to catch up with me. It was a rushed sort of waddle, so I mentally discount any humans. "Are we walking together?" the asker from earlier says to me.

I know better than to say 'We can.' I said that earlier, and didn't get to leave the conversation 'til over an hour later. "Yes we are," I say.

"That's good to hear," says another voice, right behind me. Malcolm.

"I didn't know you were there," I say, priding myself for not jumping out of my shoes...or shirt.

"Your perception of the world lacked in some parts," the asker says.

Malcolm walks around to the side opposite the asker. "I was just sitting around, and saw the two of you walking by..." He pauses. "So, can I walk with the both of you?" I nod. "Thanks," he says.

After a few silent minutes of walking - minutes where, for once, the asker didn't even query a falling leaf - I tell Malcolm about what the Commander did, and my part of the comparison. Malcolm gave a gasp so big I've no doubt it was theatrical in nature. "Commander Tucker gave such a divine comparison?"

"Divine?" asker asked.

Malcolm nodded. "In some parts of my world, cows and bulls are so revered for their wisdom that they're worshipped."

"The food refered to me as a divinity?"

Malcolm nods. "You're sure that he called you a cow, aren't you?" 'Sure'?

"Unless the air created that sound," asker said, "to produce the illusion of Commanding Food calling me a cow." The Gnostics had nothing on these people! Everything and anything is doubted.

Another bout of silent walking, with only one statement-question asked - repeatedly - and I have time to think...about myself and Malcolm. We made up, to a point, on the Naroob world. And things had sort of remained thereabouts, until I literally dropped into his quarters, and half-naked at that. It was nice of him to divert his gaze elsewhere; chivalry, one of his many fine qualities; I guess he isn't bringing that point up, because he probably is afraid I'd see that as his taking advantage of my accident.

"I do not know about this ground," the asker says, eyeballing the underside of his-its foot, like somebody with gum on their shoe.

"With respect," Malcolm says, looking back at asker briefly, "you've been saying that for the last kilome-" and he falls straight down.

I stop walking, half afraid of falling as well, and half so I can see where he's fallen to...so I can help, if I can. "I was uncertain of the terrain," asker points out.

"I know," I say. "But you can still help out."

Asker looks at me with as skeptical of a look as a chicken can have. "Can a mote of dust kill a mountain?" Oh great, just bloody great. Not only do they doubt reality . . . but now I find out they're fatalists too?

"Fine," I say. "Just stay there." He-it doesn't move a muscle.

Malcolm's in a pit, if a small and narrow one...but still deep enough that I can't reach him with my arm alone. There's no rope handy, so I need a branch. A branch... One I can reach, not thirty feet up and thorn-covered.

A branch! I grab the one branch, only for the branch to coil around my arm, lifting me up to a very alien eyeball. It drops me, so I guess I don't look like food.

Standing up, I don't wipe the dirt off my bum; for one thing, I might fall again...and for another, Malcolm comes first!

Blocking my way is the asker. "Did that hurt?" he-it asks. We're not supposed to throttle aliens we meet, I have to remind myself.

"I thought I told you to stay over there."

He-it tilts -its head. "Was it you who said that?" Just a hunch, but I don't think his-its kind would last long in Starfleet.

I walk around him-it, and only keep from plummetting into a knot of quicksand, by grabbing the nearest branch. Pulling myself out, I look around - no other choice, so I yank this real branch off its tree, and take it over to the pit...all the while, murmuring a little prayer of apology to anyone in the future who might need that branch to escape the quicksand.

I dangle the branch into the pit, and Malcolm grabs it. "You climb," I say, "and I'll pull."

"Sounds reasonable," he says dryly.

"No wonder they doubt everything," Malcolm grumbles as he makes his way up; speaking only after I told him about what happened. "Sinkholes and quicksand, predators that blend in with tree branches..." He shakes his head, and I agree. As he passes the lip of the pit, I give one last tug, and he stumbles out - knocking us both to the ground. Although we are in each other's arms.

"Malcolm," I say.

"Yes, Hoshi?" he asks, hanging on my every word.

"Pang'ono - pang'ono kambe anafika ku Ciwambo. I'm here at last."

He smiles and nods, leaving his head hanging down at the end of his last nod. "You remembered," he says in that rare tone of his, the one that feels like it's a lifeline to the past.

I smile back. "Silly," I tease him. "I remember everything you said on our honeymoon." Pausing to linger here, together. "In fact . . ."

END?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Malawi proverb was found in the book AFRICAN PROVERBS AND WISDOM: A Collection for Every Day of the Year, From More Than Forty African Nations by Julia Stewart.


	4. Hoshi's Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (in regard to the title, there are 3 Truths; each one can be taken separately, yet they hinge together, like a series-within-a-series, if that makes any sense).
> 
> spoilers: "2 days, 2 nights",
> 
> the title is taken with great respect from "The truth must be told, however harsh it may be; it may redden your eyes, but it won't blind you." by the Ivorian writer Ahmadou Kourouma's 1968 book 'The Suns of Independence'. (yes, I found this in the same book as the other quotes).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV: Hoshi's.
> 
> note: This takes place only a few days after the events of "Little By Little".

**SICKBAY:**

"You're pregnant," Dr. Phlox informs me. "I believe the word is 'congratulations'."

Pregnant? But the last time I had -

"You're sure?"

He nods like most humans do, probably a deliberate gesture. "Quite sure. Either you are pregnant, or you have a most unusually-shaped tumor."

Shape? It was only a few days ago! How could it have a shape already? If anything, it should be just a little sphere of cells...right? I couldn't help but blink confusion. "Shape?" I ask dumbly.

Another human-type nod. What does a Denobulan-type nod look like? "Oh yes. If you'd like, I can run an exam to determine the genetic donor." 'Genetic donor,' not 'father'? A reminder that humans aren't terribly odd to him...or maybe we are - to him.

"Thanks," I tell him; "but no. I've got a good idea of who the father is."

He just - no, it's not a shrug...not sure what he just did with his neck. "If you change your mind..." he offers while I get off the examination bed.

I nod back. "Out of curiosity, how far along did it look like my pregnancy was?"

Not even a scrunch of his face as he thinks. Can his face scrunch?

"Based on what I know of the human gestation cycle," Dr. Phlox tells me, "almost three months."

Three months.

THREE MONTHS?

I know my legs wobbled a bit, and my hands reached back for the bed. I think I'd better hop back up on it. "Maybe you should run that check," I say, my voice quiet and distant-sounding, "just in case." He nods, but doesn't say anything.

Nearly An Hour Later, MESS HALL:

I sit alone.

I'm glad for little favors, like Dr. Phlox having asked Malcolm for his professional opinion - regarding the best neckties for an upcoming date with Elisabeth Cutler.

"Stud?" asks an alien mollusc at a neighboring table.

If it weren't for the fact that they can walk around on dry land, the Hssk'khr look like the extinct Ammonites of Earth - correction, like a reconstruction of those ancient shelled cousins of the squid. Right now, several Hssk'khr are crowding around a table where Commander Tucker is explaining the rules of some obscure card game.

I look back to my drink. It was nice of Chef to make me a milkshake.

Maybe I can just lose myself - figuratively - in the foam that sits atop the shake. Just stare hard enough, Hoshi, and the outside world is reduced to nothingness...or so the perception will be. Just me and the shake. Not a bad idea... All I have do do is let my eyes unfocus...

But in that pairing, there's still me. Me . . . and the fetus.

There are only three worlds I ever slept with anyone on: Earth, Risa, and Asker's World which we left a few days ago. Risa was a little over a year, assuming my calendar's still accurate, given everything that's been happening since leaving Earth. And Earth...the last time I slept with Malcolm - before Asker's World - there was three months before Captain Archer'd asked me to join his crew.

"Your pardonings for disturbing your meditation," I'm told. I let my eyes regain their focus, and look up from my drink - at a parrot beak with tentacle sideburns. A Hssk'khr.

"It's okay," I say. "I was finishing up anyway."

"There exists a question in my mind," it says - if they have genders, I can't distinguish them. "Might you answer it, since another species has failed to answer it."

"Go ahead," I say.

"Are there other forms of entertainments viable to the human species, aside from cards?"

"Lots," I say.

"Of thats, I am aware. When I inquired as to the nature of some of these 'lots', the one I was asking - changed colours. Became very red in the dorsal appendage." Unlike the squids and octopi of Earth, the Hssk'khr don't seem able to change colours.

"Did you ask SubCommander T'Pol, or Dr. Phlox?" While I don't think the SubCommander would blush or let her ears turn red, I don't know what colour the Dr.s face would turn.

"Neither of those were consulted. Only Commander Tucking had been asked." Then why did you just...

"Actually, pardons for saying, but Commander Tucker and myself are members of the same species." I suppose it's a welcome change from humanoids on planets who assume that the Captain and SubCommander, for example, are from the same planet.

The beak hangs open, the smaller tentacles go limp, and its eyes unfocus. Then it collapses, the sound of its coiled shell clattering against the floor. Dear Lord, I think I scared it.

I just hope it wasn't scared to death.

The other Hssk'khr walk over from the card table to confront me. At least they don't try to invade my personal space. "What has occured?" asks one. I tell them what I and their comrade had been discussing - and they start to go limp as well.

But the others recover from the shock. "But pardons for saying, you look different," says another Hssk'khr. Yep, theory proven.

"Physical variation," I say.

They make sounds roughly equal to "aahhhh, I get it" in their language. "Are all the - bipeds residing within this cosmic submarine the same species?" asks a third one.

"What of the quadraped?" asks a fourth. Oh I can see it now, they walk up to the Captain, and ask how his brother Porthos is doing.

This could take a while.

 **Several Hours Later, SATO QUARTERS:**

Blackness. The inky depths.

Then I feel the comforting massage of my shoulders by - by Malcolm. Nobody massages like my husband. I manage to open one eye at a time. "And what do I owe the pleasure of this?" I ask, trying not to purr like a demented housecat.

"Just wanted to see if I was out of practice," he tells me, his voice in lowered tones. Too late, Malcolm sweet, your massages always wake me up...but in a good way.

"No, definately not out of - well, your style's the same," I correct myself. Most of me hopes that he hasn't had anyone to practice on during our stay on Enterprise thus far . . . and part of me wouldn't blame him if he'd succumbed to temptation somewhere along the way.

"That's good to know," he says, continuing to rub joints I didn't realize were in need of a little rubbing.

I let him continue for a few minutes more, each of us enjoying the silent contact with one another. It's really been so long... "Malcolm?" I say, hesitantly. He has to know, but I don't relish how he might react.

"Hoshi?" he answers, his tone querying.

"I'm pregnant," I say. Malcolm's hands don't squeeze me in surprise, or let go either - they just remain in one plac, an abrupt pause of the massage. And, against my fears, I tell Malcolm about what happened on Risa...and what Dr. Phlox told me.

There's nothing from Malcolm. No change in touch, or any words from his mouth.

"Malcolm?" I ask, afraid.

"I won't leave you," he tells me, his tone lacking any hesitation or self-doubt. "If you'd still have me, I'd like to help you raise this child."

I sniffle, feeling like I'm about to cry. Relief, that's what I feel right now.


	5. Malcolm's Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm's POV on what happens next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: R/S, R&S  
> spoilers: "2 days, 2 nights",
> 
> POV: Malcolm's. (mind you, I've eaten pancake syrup that wasn't this sappy). :)  
> note: This takes place only a day after the events of "Hoshi's Truth". I also give a few of my private Enterprise theories...like Hoshi's name. :)  
> Dedicated to Shi-Shi2525 & Dragoncait, I must admit my kick-in-de-arse comes from the great John W. Cambell's proverb "Show me a being that thinks as well as a man, but not like a man."  
> ps: I sincerely apologize if I've misspelled any of the non-English words in this.

I wake up, and treasure the feel of Hoshi in my arms. Its been so long since we cuddled, just cuddling, sleeping platonically just for the feel of one another. Oh how I missed this.  
Seeing what time it is, I ease her alarmclock to a face-down position, so she won't bolt out of bed to get dressed for duty. I look at my sleeve - I am still dressed...as is Hoshi. So why do I have this sudden, irrational fear that somebody's going to come barging in here, and find us like this?

Aach, let them find out. . . just not in such a way that Hoshi is embarassed. I couldn't bear that happening...maybe that's why we agreed on the route we took, with Starfleet.

Hoshi makes one of her Early Morning Sounds as her throat tries to wake up before the rest of her - that's what it sounds like, and I wouldn't have things any other way.

Everything about her is beautiful, even the little sounds.

Hoshi finishes waking up, then turns to me. "What time is it?" she asks in drowsy Nauhtl, having noticed the down-turned clock.

"It's early yet," I lie, a white lie. English is good for saying them.

"Really?" she asks in Hindi, sounding like she doesn't believe me entirely, but will humour me. "And what did you have in mind?"

Much as I'd like to give you another massage, dear, there are things to do. "Let's get you down to Sickbay," I suggest in Eusperka(sp). Health before duty, as my dad always told me.

Just when we finally get out her front door, we encounter Mr. Tucker, who was about to ring the bell. "Hey Hoshi," he says full of American enthusiasm, then, more somberly, "Malcolm."

"Hello," Hoshi replies. I say the same word, only in Kurdish.

"Is he bothering you, Hoshi?" Commander Tucker asks.

"Nyet," Hoshi assures him, in Russian.

"Huh? Mind saying that again?"

"She said nein," I tell him, switching to German on the final word.

"C'mon, speak English, not Vulcan." That was a figure of speech, right?

Me and Hoshi each raise an eyebrow, and she asks something that probably is Vulcan.  
"All right," Mr. Tucker says. "But just remember, Hoshi, that I tried to help." She nods, and Mr. Tucker finally leaves us alone.

So the two of us make our way to Sickbay. The corridor to Dr. Phlox's lab is empty, but I would still be by Hoshi's side, even if the hall were filled with everyone in Starfleet.

"If it's a boy..." Hoshi says to me, speaking in Thai.

"It could be a girl," I suggest in the same language. Undoubtedly would be a beauty, like her mother; a face more worthy of worship than Helen of Troy or Aphrodite.

"Well, assuming it's a boy," she says, "we could name him..." and she trails off. "It was, after all, my mother's favorite name." And the source of Hoshi's own, since she hadn't been born a boy; so Hoshi was given a variant spelling of it. I know what name she means.

"No," I say gently. "Let's save that for the second son."

Hoshi raises one of those graceful eyebrows. "You presume we're having at least two children."

"No, but if it happens that we have more than one, I'm okay with that; and I'm okay if this is our only one."

"Okay," she says, "but I was thinking more of Malcolm the second," to which I shake my head. I would never inflict my middle names on a child!

The corridor isn't shaking, but my feet do feel something...something's coming. Why do I suddenly feel like Indiana Jones?

It's a large sphere rolling down the corridor, that's why. I pull Hoshi to the side, with my back hitting the corridor wall, and then we turn so that I'd be the one struck by the sphere.

But the sphere stops, and starts to uncurl. Turning to look, warily, I know that I've seen that face before... "A Hssk'khr," Hoshi says, recognizing it before I did. She also drops back to English.

"Yes," it says. "You moved," it said, sounding remarkably like a whine.

"What the bloody - were you doing that for?" I ask, refraining from the full curse, only because Hoshi was with me.

"Commanded Tucking explained of bowlings," it replies, uncurling itself. Note to self: invite the Commander to army ant territory for lunch.

"But why were you doing that?" Hoshi asks.

"Performance of amusement."

"Why are you so curious about forms of amusement?" Hoshi asks it.

"We-all Hssk'khr must perform every form we can, knowing everything of entertainment. Only then may we sight the Humorous." Well then, I'm sure the Commander would be happy to help you play rugby, or Pin The Tail...

"The humorous?" Hoshi and I ask as one.

The entire Hssk'khr body bobs like part of a fishing line...which makes sense, since they don't have a neck. "The Humorous is Creator of All...even the Vulcans...and the Humorous is the Enlightener of Few."

"If I can ask," Hoshi asks, "what exactly do you believe will happen when you know all the entertainments?"

"Two wishes granted," answers the Hssk'khr. "Anythings requested, made manifest!" I'm no xenolinguist, but I bet that that's excitement.

Even so . . . "Just two?" I ask. Why is it that I say things to aliens that I wouldn't say to most anyone on Enterprise? Is it because they don't know me, thus affording a slight anonimity(sp) ?

"What is faulty with two?" it asks, sounding baffled.

"Nothing," I assure it. "I just thought that, for all that hard work, your people would get more than just two wishes," unless one of them is for a lot more wishes.

The eyes widen, but none of the shocked features Hoshi told me about. Then the alien wanders off, muttering to itself in Latin about the typically humanoid oddity of 'greed'.

Shaking our heads at that, Hoshi and myself continue on our way to the Sickbay.

 **SICKBAY:**

"I've done a genetic analysis, Ensign," Dr. Phlox says to Hoshi. "And while the majority of the fetus is from your own genetic code, and the fetus is beginning to aquire some of Lieutenant Reed's genes."

"And the rapid growth?" Hoshi asks, concerned.

"Well, you have Lieutenant Reed to thank for that," he says.

"Excuse me?" I ask. He's hardly noticed me during this visit; which is understandable, since Hoshi's the center, the focal point. And the center of my personal universe.

"Contact with your DNA activated the dormant blastocyst," Dr. Phlox says. "Though contrary to what some Earth movies may claim, it wasn't keyed to your genes. You just happened to be the next gene donor."

"You're sure about this?" I ask. I probably wouldn't understand it if he showed me the technical details, but I have to ask.

He nods. "I do know my own species."

"But . . . But he didn't say he was from Denobula," Hoshi says. "He was from -"

"From -?" Dr. Phlox pronounces it, all however-many sylables it has. Hoshi nods. "That is the name of my world, just not the name used by the cultural majority of Denobulans."

Oh no, Hoshi...Calm down, just calm down. You know, Doctor, it's your fault she's stammering; you just had to deliver a shock to her system. She hasn't stammered for a long time. I think the last time was when I proposed, atop the Pyramid of the Magician, on that special day of the year.

Just when my wife looks like she's about to pass out, the intercomm beeps, then spews out the Captain's voice: "Lieutenant Reed, please report to the Bridge."

I look at Hoshi, and she nods. With great reluctance, I part from her, going over to the comm unit on the wall, and answer: "Is it an emergency?" I ask. Yes, it's my shift; but I'm not leaving Hoshi at a time like this, not come Hell, high water, or Suliban flu.

"Well, no...not yet," he answers, sounding baffled by my response.

"Then I'll have to say, hold on, Captain. I'm busy," and I click the comm off. Okay, now to walk back over to my dear Hoshi. "Did I miss anything?" I ask her and the doctor.

"No," she says. "But you didn't have to do that."

I nod. "You're right. I chose to." She gives me a smile that means 'I hope you know what you're doing', and addresses Dr. Phlox:

Hoshi - changing the subject to help her steady herself - tells Dr.Phlox about what happened to the Hssk'khr yesterday - specifically the dizzy spells and fainting. Dr. Phlox just nods, as though he expected as much. "The Hssk'khr are a fairly rare case study, an oddity in the ranks of sentient life," he says. "My uncle's second wife's third husband did quite a bit of research on them. They're like cheetahs on your planet."

"Cheetahs?" I ask.

He nods. "Genetically speaking, they're virtually identical."

"So," Hoshi picks up the concept, "they were shocked by the thought that two dissimilar-looking people could be the same species, right?"

"Quite." Well, to be fair, Mr. Tucker's not anywhere near as lovely as my Hoshi.

Tucker. T'Pol. Archer. The Hssk'khr probably think they're all different species.

A lightbulb goes off over my head, and I'm only sorry its taken this long to brighten. Yes, I should have done this months ago.

I look to Hoshi, who gives me a nervous frown, but nods anyway. I nod in reply, and head back to the comms. "Sickbay to Captain Archer," I say. When he replies, I tell him,   
"Could you come down here? There's something you should know," and click it off again.

Yes, I'm going to tell him the truth. Even if it kills me...though I don't relish the thought of what that would do to Hoshi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of the more obscure languages: Nauhtl - language of the Mayans; Eusperka(sp) - language of the Basques;


	6. the Humorous Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: 3rd Person Perspective.  
> note: This takes place immediately after "Malcolm's Truth".

"I'm not insulting your egg line," Captain Archer reiterated for the tenth time. "I just want to know what you've done to my Chief Armory officer."

"That is insult," said the Hssk'khr who'd spent the most time on and near the Enterprise Bridge. This one had been asked by Captain Archer to accompany him down to Sickbay. "You making suggestions of innuendo and -" an untranslatable sound, "between I and human...insult!"

The door to Sickbay opened just then.

"You wanted to see me?" Captain Archer asked, stepping inside to get away from the cephalopod-like alien.

"Yes sir," Lieutenant Reed replied. "I'm sorry for my behavior lately -"

"That is good to hear," T'Pol said, having accompanied the Captain and Hssk'khr down here.

"lately," Reed repeated, "but my wife is pregnant, so I was helping her."

"Your wife?" Archer asked, trying to think of when the Lieutenant could have gotten married - which planet?

Hoshi raised her hand. "That would be me."

"You?" T'Pol asked. Like laughter, Hoshi had to remind herself, Vulcans weren't supposed to be able to be incredulous...no matter how it sounded.

In Vulcan, Hoshi quipped, "At least my bum isn't the sole noticable feature of my body."

T'Pol said nothing to that; she was struggling to stay perfectly still. The Hssk'khr noticed the cracks of a smile on the Lieutenant's face.

"Did you know about this?" Captain Archer asked Dr. Phlox. Had Phlox been human, he probably would have been walking away slowly, whistling innocently. "Doctor?"

"I knew of the Ensign's pregnancy," Phlox confirmed. "But I -" and he kept from lying. He was a sociologist, an anthropologist; so he forebore from saying that he wasn't. "But I only knew of their marriage after they informed me of it."

"How long -? How long have the two of you been married?" Archer asked.

"Remember Starfleet?" Hoshi asked. Archer nodded. "Before then."

Nothing in the universe is truly instantaneous. Time itself is dividable into an infinity of spaces. So the delay was understandable:

The room began to brighten, and something half emerged from the ceiling and half appeared out of thin air. Exact edges didn't exist for it: it faded into brightness along the sides, and lit up more and more towards the center.

The Hssk'khr splayed its legs out, angling all those tentacles out like a lizard or crab's walking legs. Hoshi figured that was their way of prostrating themselves - which would mean that - "This is the Humorous?" she asked.

"Indeed corrects," the Hssk'khr murmured, reverence in its posture.

Shielding his eyes from the intensity of the luminous glare, Jonathan Archer said to his two Starfleet officers, "I wish the two of you hadn't lied about your relationship."

The alien - if the Humorous was one - made a few CLICKing sounds. "Acceptible."

There was, appropriately enough, a bolt of lightening and the roll of thunder to mark such an eventful event.

 **BRASIL, Two Minutes Later:**

Hoshi blinked, and found herself standing in front of a roomful of eager young students who wanted to become linguists. She could see Malcolm sitting in the front row, giving her a look that was all reassurance.

After the class was over, Malcolm stayed behind to help her put the class notes and papers in order. "Drachma for your thoughts?" he asked, since she seemed to be lost in thought.

"I'd have to give you change, then," Hoshi teased.

"No, I'd be in debt," Malcolm insisted in a teasing manner.

Hoshi smiled, and pointed out to the first stars of the evening. "I can't help but wonder what Archer's up to," Hoshi said, "out there." She, after all, had never joined the Enterprise crew; and neither had her husband. They'd opted out of such an adventure, prefering to stay Earthbound for at least a few more years.

"I'm sure he's having grand adventure," Malcolm said, nuzzling her neck, "but he's missing out on the finer things in life...like married life."

Hoshi leaned back in his embrace, one hand gingerly touching the slight swell of her abdomen, where grew her completely human baby. "Even so, I just wish we knew for certain."

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel sorry for anyone in the path of the Hssk'khr - can you imagine how pissed-off they are?).


	7. In the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the title is taken with great respect from the Malagasy proverb about resiliance: "People are like plants in the wind: they bow down and rise up again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dedicated to Shishi2525, for the modivation.
> 
> characters: Malcolm, Hoshi, Phlox, Trip, several Hssk'khr, a Hoooissh, Archer, T'Pol...
> 
> POV: Hoshi's (since she's not as sappy as her husband).  
> note: This takes place a few days after the "TRUTH" trilogy.

I walk down a corridor that is at once familiar . . . and yet, completely new to me.

It's strange, really. I mean, I have one set of memories that just drape over my main set of memories... I suppose its one of the safeguards the universe has to keep people sane, particularly if they've bounced from one line of existance to another - like myself and Malcolm have. One set of my memories includes a trip to Risa, while the other set lacks that memory - or of anything else on the Enterprise.

I nod to the guard on duty, "Hey Hal," I say, "I'd like to chat with some of the Hssk'khr," and he lets me inside. He's a friend of Malcolm's, though I doubt even Hal knew about my marriage to Malcolm. But Hal trust Malcolm...and me.

Inside this room are all the Hssk'khr. I suppose the Captain couldn't bring himself to have them all killed - even after their attempted riot . . . including against the T'Pol and the Captain himself in Sickbay, just after me and Malcolm'd left.

"You returned," one of the Hssk'khr says glumly.

"No wishes remain," predicts another, the smallest, whose skin is bruised the most - from the Captain, I think.

"Our people have been informed," a third tells me. "They await us." Wasn't this one with the Commander?...what did he do that there's a brilliant orange welt on its skin?

The largest one just rolls around in a circle, lolling despondantly.

"Cheer up," I say. "It's not the end of the world."

"Correct," says the smallest. "Our world has been empty of us for five million years. It will survive our passing."

"Your passing?" I ask. Okay, so there are times I can repeat things like an idiot.

I have a feeling they aren't talking about going to DisneyWorld...even the one in Calcutta.

"We have worked for," the Hssk'khr paused, calculating, "eight million years. There is nothing else we can do now."

"Save for exiting the plural planes of existance," said a second one.

"Do you have any suggestions?" moans the largest.

The day I suggest sepuku is the day that T'Pol dances in public, wearing a tutu.

What would Malcolm say? Think, Hoshi, think! "I bet you there is something you can do," I say, grasping at straws. Conceptual straws, though that might not be the best term, given my state. I think Dr. Phlox is baffled over how I 'lost' the Denobulan DNA.

"Bet?" inquires the smallest Hssk'khr present. "More amusement for your ends?"

"No," I say. "A bet can also be a wager between two people or groups."

"What wages?" asks the largest, no longer rolling about.

"If I win, all of you stick with what you find."

"Or should you fail winning?"

I meet their eyes, their not-human eyes, and don't say anything.

 **A WEEK LATER:**

According to the SubCommander, this world we've just arrived at, it's fairly old and dry.   
Mostly solid rock on the surface, with the occasional patch of soil. Not a lot of free oxygen in the air, and it's hot too. Not as hot as the salt mines I visited...where I met Malcolm.

A dry wind carried some dust along as we stepped out from the shuttle. We hadn't gone twenty feet from that shuttle when the SubCommander told the Commander, "Do not put your foot down."

So, Commander Tucker just froze there, balancing one-legged while the rest of us tried to see what T'Pol's scanners had picked up. It was something part shark, part housecat...and it was purring. There was also a row of spines running down its back.

"Likely poisonous," T'Pol remarked.

"Like a fish," Trip muttered. "One of them stonefish on Earth."

There was a sound exactly like a "mew". And it was coming from the stone-mimic.

"Did you just hear a cat?" Trip laughed.

The native made a 'mew'ing sound again, then pointed to itself. "Hoooissh," it said.

"Who ish?" Trip asked, trying to repeat the sounds. He set his foot down, away from the stone-mimic catshark.

"Hoooissh," it repeated, not pausing between the sylables. Is that their name, or a general statement?

It rears up on - I can't tell offhand if those are all legs, all pseudopods, or some legs and the rest are something else. The Hoooissh's body was covering something up: a bowl-shaped depression in the rock, and that depression has something in it.

The Hoooissh uses one leg to pick something out of the bowl - one arm, not leg, I suppose, since it's now holding something. A net? Or just a collection of knots on a set of ropes.

"Very primitive," SubCommander T'Pol comments.

"We've all got to start somewhere," I snap back at her, though I keep it in English.

"Give them a few thousand years," Archer says, agreeing with me, "and they'll be flying starships too."

"More than a few thousand," T'Pol says, "if human history is a basis."

"Then let's give them a few good teachers," I say, an idea forming in my head.

"Ensign?" T'Pol asks me. Curiosity?...or just me imagining it?

"Maybe we can give them someone to learn from. An entire race to learn from."

"Vulcans?" the Commander asks, at the same time as the SubCommander asking:

"Humans?"

I shake my head to both. "The Hssk'khr."

"Hoshi -" Archer says, a warning in his tone.

"If we don't, then the Hssk'khr race, every one of them, down to the last individual, will kill themselves."

"That would not be a logical action," the SubCommander says.

Now I raise an eyebrow. "They were working for eight million years, only for us to steal their reward. Don't they deserve something for all their effort?"

Jonathan Archer looks at me, and goes walking off.

tbc.

I'm not sure how much time's passed...since I haven't checked my watch. If I look at it once, I'll probably end up looking at it every thirty seconds. Captain Archer's still out there: pacing back and forth, sitting down, standing up, kicking loose dust.

I start to walk towards him, to try to help out, but -

"Attempting to push him to a decision,"T'Pol says, "may very well result in him choosing an outcome contrary to what you were requesting." Dang she's right. Right enough that I just sit down and watch Commander Tucker playing peek-a-boo with a very baffled Hoooissh.

I wait, and we wait, and we all wait some more. Next time, I tell myself, I'm bringing a parasol! The heat is enough for us, and we're standing in the shadow of the shuttle . . .   
How much worse I imagine it is for the Captain. After all, I doubt he's had more than the Starfleet modicum of desert survival classes - nothing next to the consecutive months which myself and Malcolm have lived in deserts.

And finally, after a great long while, Captain Archer returns. Heavily sunburned, he looks at us, his gaze settling on me, and its neither a kind look, nor an evil look. Just the look of a man who wishes there was another option.

Captain Archer activates his comm. "Lieutentant Reed," he says into it. "Would you and some other armory officers please bring the Hssk'khr down to our coordinates? And Lieutenant, keep your weapons on -" and he hesitates... "stun."

I put my hand on his shoulder. "Thank you," I tell him.

He doesn't look at me. I half expect him to say 'Don't thank me.' Instead, he looks at the Hoooissh, and tells it "I'm sorry."

The Hssk'khr came down to the planet without any incidents, and they listened to my proposal on how they could continue their existance.

"Teaching," said the largest of the Hssk'khr Enterprise had had.

I nod. "Yes. Many cultures I've met, they consider it the highest honor one can attain."

They confer among themselves for several long minutes. Minutes made more bearable by Malcolm now standing alongside me; we aren't touching, but the presence is enough.

"We will do this honor," all four Hssk'khr say as one, their voices not echoing one another - it's more like its a single voice. "As a race, this shall be done," and they turn around, leading the Hoooissh away from us.

The Hoooissh looks back at us, a confused look on its face, but it stays with the four.

"Captain," I say as the five cross the horizon.

"Yes?" he asks me.

"I have a feeling they might prefer Starfleet not to hang around."

"Or at least," Malcolm adds, "not too closely."

Captain Archer nods, rubbing where a Hssk'khr had nearly bitten a chunk out of his arm. "I'll make the suggestion to Admiral Forrest." He pauses. "Though there may be a few things I don't mention...to simplify the report."


	8. Trip and the Onion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the title is taken with great respect from the Egyptian expression of "If an onion causes his loud rejoices, then what shall we say to sugar?"
> 
> This takes place a few days after "In The Wind". The Enterprise seems to have entered a run-down & very bad neighborhood.  
> (and its a little demonstration of what role biology can play in a story).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dedicated to: Layla & Shishi2525, for the inspiration of this.  
> spoilers: "Shuttlepod One",
> 
> POV: Trip's...yes, now we see his take on things. :)
> 
> comment from my Hoshi muse: "In case you the reader was wondering what Guzzlers look like (and who let Trip name them?), imagine if rhinos had evolved from birds."

"MORE!" shouts a Guzzler at all of us senior staff of Enterprise.

"More?" I can't help but ask. "You guys just had the Bourbon, the Whiskey, and the Scotch."

"It was not strong enough," the second Guzzler says, stone sober...or just boulder-sized. And they are, both of them.

I don't believe this. These two break onto Enterprise, cause general mayhem, and now they're complaining about the drinks?

"Too watery," the first remarks.

I grumble, and put a few flasks on the table. Ouzo, Yasou, retsina, and O'pah!...lets see those bastards call that watery! Not even bothering to pour a glass, they swallow all those down . . . without a single strain. No effect.

No effect?

"If your ship cannot produce satisfactory beverages to incapacitate us," one of the Guzzlers says, "we will take what we want from your ship." They want to be incapacitated? "None of your soldiers or weapons can stop us!"

Malcolm shoves Hoshi behind him. Trying to hide force behind a veil of nobility, Lieutenant? Kinda shows what a load of bullcrap are all those rumors circulating about you two being married.

I'd know if Hoshi were married!

 **THAT NIGHT:**

Quiet as can be, I enter the mess hall at about shipboard midnight.

Those hulks aren't moving. Probably asleep, or konked out at last.

So I sit down with my midnight snack, though I take a table close to the door, just in case.   
Ahh, pecan pie, a few chocolate chip cookies, and a glass of milk. Just like momma used to make.

The floorboards shake. Note to self: re-engineer the floor so that they won't result in bad Jurassic Park impressions with drinks. Before I can even start to stand up, two shadows fall over me: and nobody else on Enterprise is that big - even those squid-people were runts compared to the Guzzlers. Damn they're fast!

"What is this?" one Guzzler demands, pointing to the milk.

"It's milk," I say, just as the other one grabs the milk, and gulps it down. HEY! You have any idea how hard I had to work, just so Chef would agree to make a glass of milk every night?

"Tastes funny," that Guzzler says.

Wow, that's already more of a reaction than the ouzo! got.

"Where are your real drinks?" asks the one who didn't have any milk. Hm, ever had plasma coolant, bucko?

The one who'd had the milk, I'm just glad that he fell backwards...'cause if he'd fallen on me, I'd be flatter than a squirrel on the Interstate Highway. The other Guzzler looks at his - its? - pal, then at me. Spit-scared, I'd say.

 **ONE HOUR LATER:**

Well, the Guzzlers sure left in a hurry, loudly announcing that they were going, and that it was my fault that they weren't going to be around to protect the Enterprise. I told the crew what I did, and now everyone's congratulating me.

"You never fail to amaze me, Trip," Archer says to me.

"Thanks, Captain," I reply. Ah, and next up in line...

"Your ingenuity is a credit to the human species."

"Well thanks, T'Pol. Did you hurt yourself admitting that?" Yep, proof positive that, emotions or not, a Vulcan can still glare.

"Milk and cookies?" Travis asks me. I nod. "Maybe I should try that after all."

"Good work, Trip!" Hoshi tells me.

"What, no congratulatory kiss?" I ask.

"Well, I'd rather not," Malcolm says, since he was the next in line to shake my hand.

Just you wait, Lieutenant. Just you wait. One day . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, the expression was about 'those who gush with admiration over trivial things'...but I thought it somehow fit the story. what do you think?


	9. Remembering Life (part 1 of 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everything in dreams stems someway-or-other from reality,  
> however strangely or tenuous the connection. this is the origin  
> of "Stinky".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: R/S, R&S  
> hints of E/M  
> spoilers: Broken Bow, 2 days 2 nights,
> 
> the title is taken with great respect from African proverb of "Work  
> is good, provided you do not forget to live." (from the same book as  
> before).
> 
> characters: Malcolm, Hoshi, Trip, Archer, Travis, T'Pol; also,  
> various members of real-world Earth tribes...all members mentioned,  
> however, are entirely fictional and made-up. they are NOT based on  
> real people.
> 
> POV: the present-day (by Enterprise reckoning) events are 3rd  
> Person. the flashbacks to the past are Hoshi's POV. all of the  
> flashbacks are in chronological order, just in case you were  
> wondering.
> 
> note: This takes place one uneventful week after "Trip & the  
> Onion". The Enterprise seems to have finally left the run-down &  
> very bad neighborhood . . . and entered a merely strange one. the  
> Siiruu biology is borrowed from Earthly fishes.

~~~~  
Phlox was the only one who was taking the news well.

Malcolm ammended that thought: Phlox was the only one from Enterprise who was taking the news well. "It's nothing to worry about, Captain," he said into the communicator to Enterprise. "The Siiruu say that we can take Ensign Sato with us after she recovers."

Trip grabbed the communicator out of Phlox's hand. "No, Capt, the Siiruu ain't taking Hoshi to any of their hospitals -- and I'm starting to wonder if they have any at all." Trip listened to Archer's reply. "They aren't moving her, and they won't let us move her. Some bull about divining her fate and their destiny." Listening. "Understood, sir. Tucker out," and closed the communicator. "We're bringing her up to Enterprise," Trip announced to the humans, Siiruu, and Denobulan in earshot.

"You dare not," said the nearest Siiruu, a new-male with shiny grey feather-like structures that were nearly true feathers, but not quite.

"Oh I do dare," Trip said, about two steps from getting in new-his face. "In fact, I'm doing right now."

That one opened new-his beak, and three needles slid forwards from the muscle grooves which normally held them. Tri-fanged, Trip noted, trying not to hear the deliberate *click*ing of Siiruu talons against the rock ground. "Do you offer your fate for addition, or your flesh for subtraction?"

Phlox pulled Trip back just in time to avoid being sliced open. The new-male didn't follow them.

"Commander, you can thank me later," Phlox said. "Right now, I need you to be more helpful and less argumenative."

"Doc, these people are -"

"Well within their rights, Commander Tucker. This is their planet, and you should consider that they weren't obligated to accept our offer to help treat Ensign Sato."

"'Treat'? They aren't doing anything! They're just standing around, thumbs up their butts -- if they have any -- and waiting for something to happen."

"They're checking for demons," Crewman Cutler said, interjecting as she walked by. "They won't do anything if they think the results are faulty."

"What makes you so sure?" Trip wanted to know.

Cutler raised a corner of her lip in a half-smile. "Three years Catholic schooling in the back of beyond. That's where they have the *really* old traditions." She didn't mention when she nearly became a nun.

"I believe humans have a like mind on this," Phlox said.

"You're shi++ing me, right?" Trip asked. "How the hell do humans approve of the sort of crap these birdbrains are doing?"

Phlox, looking completely nonbugged, replied with, "'There is special providence in the fall of every sparrow.'"

Normally, Malcolm would have enjoyed the look on Trip's face, or just at the Commander being proved wrong. But not now; most definately and completely not now!

He wasn't looking at the Commander at all. He was sitting at Hoshi's side, his hand on hers. The Siiruu had forbade him from holding her hand -- the risk of changing fate and destiny, they said, was too great to risk. The fact that she was even alive after this, they said and Phlox agreed, was a minor miracle...so Malcolm resolved to say prayers of THANK YOU! to every deity he knew of. Just as soon as Hoshi recovered. "Hoshi," Malcolm said quietly soft, his voice for her alone. "Hoshi, it's me, Malcolm."

Hoshi made a little sound, almost a murmur; and the Siiruu assigned to keep watch over the fallen body of Hoshi Sato, old-she nearly crowed at the change. There was a rapid-fire conversation in canary chirps between old-her and the new-he that'd argued with Trip not long before now.

"Hoshi," Malcolm said, afraid of what might've happened to her mind. "Hoshi, do you remember anything?"  
 **  
~~  
HOSHI'S PAST:  
**  
I get out of the helicopter after the Vulcan does. Vorrkerr or something along those lines; is it possible for a Vulcan to be a prince? Because that's what I think of when I look at him. The harsh sunlight and dry air don't seem to bother him as much as me.

Some of the locals, children they seem to be, call out in a language that isn't Arabic, and Arabic's the only language of this area that I know even half-well. Suddenly the prospect of spending a month in the Afar Route, a traditionalist enclave for the preservation of ancient ways, doesn't seem so appetizing.

Out of one of the tents comes a handful of people, humans all of them by their appearance. Only one of them isn't as dark as the others . . . in fact, he's downright Caucasian! "Good morning," he tells us, first in Arabic, then in British English. His accent's definately there, though it doesn't render the Arabic incomprehensable. In a moment of stupidity, I half expect him to say he represents the Raj.

This is morning? I think my hair's already starting to stick to my neck.

"It is - pleasant," Vorrkerr agrees in English, American English. "My papers," handing them over to him.

"What makes you think I'm in charge?" he asks, accepting the papers.

"You accepted the papers."

He whispers something to the man standing next to him, and that man looks like a chief or king. "I might just be the errand boy," the first man says, "or the village idiot." He opens the sheaf and skims over it. "You're a Vulcan."

"Your grasp of the obvious is quite firm."

If he noticed the slight, he didn't respond to it. "Did you read anything about the Afar before you came to this part of Africa?"

"Yes."

He nods, as though he expected that answer. "Let me guess; you read about the salt caravans of men and camels, right?" Vorrkerr nods. "Then you missed the chapter added after your people showed up. Most tribes don't like Vulcans."

"That is illogical. How many Vulcans have they met?"

Now the man looked like he was about to laugh, in the Vulcan's face no less! "You think you're the first Vulcan to want to walk the salt caravan route? Now that's illogical, making an assumption like that.

"I'll tell you flatly, since I've said it so many times before: They see your kind as a bad spirit, worse than the Ifrit or Djinns. You stay here, or show up at any point along the way, and these people will vanish -- almost literally. So I suggest, Mr Vulcan, that you head back to the 'choper, and go back to your Embassy enclave."

Then he utterly ignores the Vulcan, and turns to face me. Oh dear, I'm not dressed for this sort of weather, let alone the culture...am I?

"Your papers, please," he asks me in clear Arabic. I hand them to him, and wait as he leafs through each paper, one by one. I can't help sweating, even a pant or three. With a smile, he hands me my papers back after two minutes, though it feels like five. "University of Delhi?" he asks me, still in Arabic. "You're a long way from home."

"I came," I say, though my speech is broken Arabic, only partly from the heat already taking its toll on me, "to study the surviving Afar language. I'd like to learn it."

He translates this into the local language for the benefit of his companions, and they all laugh. I feel like shriveling up and hiding somewhere -- and that feeling isn't from the heat. "This is the age of space exploration," he tells me. "Dozens and more of alien species, each with many languages of their own. Why would you want to learn the speech of the Afar people?" His look is as piercing as the noonday sun must be...and if this is only the morning...

"I like people," I say, mentally kicking myself over how stupid I must sound. "And I'm probably not going to go into deep space." That and one of my language teachers reccomended learning a few human languages outside of my own _lingua franca_'s language family.

And again he translates my words. At least I think those're my words -- maybe he's just making a snide remark.

"Malcolm Reed," he introduces himself, without any titles or offices appended to his name.

"Hoshi Sato," I say, leaving unsaid and un-implied that I'm gunning for my doctorate.

He nods, though an eyebrow of his is up partway. Probably wondering about my name. "Let's get you some water, shall we?" he asks, and leads me towards one of the few tents.  
~~~  
tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment from my Hoshi muse: "In the original concept draft,  
> Malcolm was the one unconcious. I don't know how I let myself be  
> talked into being conked out.


	10. Remembering Life (part 2 and 3 of 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [author's note: warning: there's a Biblical joke in here; if there  
> wasn't, my Siiruu muse wouldn't let Hoshi leave].

~~~~  
THE PRESENT:

Elisabeth jotted down notes to give her something to do. The Siiruu had decided that Hoshi didn't have any demons, so now they were watching Hoshi intently, watching and listening. According to Phlox, the next step was to shout questions at destiny -- in this case, at Hoshi.

She looked over her notes . . . 'Siiruu can be born as either male or female; these are refered to by means of pronouns which translate as young-he and young-she. When one of these reaches adulthood, or puberty, I'm not yet sure; a young-he becomes female, and a young-she becomes male; these have the pronouns of new-she and new-he. Old-he and old-she are used for Siiruu who are molting out of their current gender; I don't know if they then become neuter, or just continue the cycle.'

Elisabeth nodded to herself. Yeah, Hoshi'd be proud of that. Proof positive that Elisabeth'd been listening to her on all those plane and train trips.

The sound of feet on stone, near-constant as it was lately, caught her attention. Yes, it was Malcolm pacing yet more. Back and forth, back and forth. Like an expectant father, Elisabeth thought to herself, and allowed herself a pang of regret for what might-have-been. Her and Malcolm.

But Elisabeth hadn't ever objected to Hoshi's having him. To her mind, it was better her cousin than anyone else!

Then there was another set of walking on stones. Commander Tucker had arrived, and was saying something about the Enterprise.

Elisabeth tilted her head so her good ear was facing the conversation, and she moved her hand so any casual observers would think she was sketching the local scenery.

"Captain Archer wants you up there, and he wants you up there now!"

"Then you'll just have to inform the Captain that I'm not leaving here." Not without Hoshi, he mentally added.

"You wanna be court-martialed? That can happen."

"Try it," Malcolm said challenging. "You might find I can't be court-martialed."

"Dammit, you're the -"

"Commander Tucker, I'm flattered that you think I'm the only member of Enterprise's crew who knows how to fire a torpedo. But, since I don't like seeing people wallow in delusions, I have to break it to you that I'm not the only armory officer on Enterprise."

"I could force you up there."

Malcolm gave a wry little smile, only half-hearted though. "Commander, to do that, you'd have to render me unconcious. And I don't think an unconcious armory officer would do any good in a battle senario." He paused. "Besides, if I'm being court-martialed, or readied for a court-martial, I couldn't & shouldn't man that station anyway."

Trip half-growled and half-grumbled.

Elisabeth hoped Hoshi recovered before there was blood spilt . . . on anyone's part.  
 **  
~~~  
HOSHI'S PAST: ******

"So," I asked my cousin as we walked down the Nature Preserve's trail here in Madagascar, "how was your visit to Cyprus?" I have to admit, being somewhat jealous -- I've not yet visited the unified island off the Turkish coastline.

We're here to visit an old college friend of mine: Pinar Booth.

"It was nice," Elisabeth tells me. "I went all around Cyprus, north to south, east to west...and I have the sunburn to prove it," with a grin, which I return. Then it hits us, and hard: That smell . . . what is that?? Elisabeth asks the same question. We walk around the shack, and see Pinar talking with -- with Malcolm.

I think it's Malcolm who smells. Almost like a lemur. "Lemur?" I ask in Malagasy.

Pinar nods. "The one who is smelling, he says in Arabic that he was walked on by a lemur species that he couldn't find in the guidebook." Granted, those books are never perfect, but still. "Stinky."

I like the nickname . . . his personal musk's probably quite nice-smelling.

Malcolm looks from Pinar to me. "That was definately not Arabic," he says in Arabic. The look on Pinar's face practically mutters 'tourist' to me. "Could the three of you teach it to me?" which raises him a notch or two in her estimation -- willingness to learn.

"It depends," Pinar says, this time in Arabic.

"On what?" Malcolm asks.

Standard question, I decide after sharing a look with Pinar. "What's your first language?" I ask him.

Malcolm looks trapped, caught like a deer in the headlights, a lemur in a sauna, a hippo at a weight-watcher's convention. Then his face relaxes back to normal. "I don't have one," he says, and honestly.

"You don't?" I can't help but ask.

"That's right."

"Malcolm," I say, "everybody has a first language."

He shakes his head. "Not me."

Pinar sighs, about ready to throw up her hands. "He's all yours, lady of the Middle Kingdom's neighbor, conquerer of Kublai's fleet." There are times that the Malagasy language's tendancy to form things so you don't have to give a person's name -- it can get annoying at times.

And there are times when it's used for a joke. "That would make me," I reply in Malagasy, "nine centuries old."

"Well," Pinar says, switching to Arabic, "you do realize that there can be only one, don't you?" Now, old friend, are you making a statement of faith, or a joke about your 'Highlander' obsession?  
~~~~  
tbc

 **  
~~~~  
THE PRESENT:**

Trip was over at the Enterprise shuttle, having gone up to the ship, helped out in the firefight that'd taken place between the Enterprise and the Mystery 'Ship, then brought down some guys from his own department to forcibly bring Malcolm up to the Enterprise.

Elisabeth was still at her rock, but now she was learning a new branch of medicine: the sort with toxic and venomous species...for she was trying to help a young-he whose center venom fang wasn't moving very well. Phlox was acting as one advisor, and a Siiruu medic was also advising.

And Travis Mayweather walked up to Malcolm, who was watching Hoshi, and Malcolm was sitting alongside a few score of Siiruu who were also keeping eyes on Hoshi -- though not for the same reason as Malcolm was.

"Lieutenant?" Travis asked.

"Ensign," Malcolm replied, a lot calmer than he would've spoken to Tucker. He was right, in his eyes, to have told the Ones Without Names that the Commander's name was 'Food'.

"You've been down here for days."

"I'm aware of the cycles that planets are wont to make," Malcolm said.

"Have you had any sleep? Anything to eat?"

"Not tired, and not hungry. Next question."

"You have to sleep," Travis said. "Everybody does. And eat too."

Malcolm gave a tiny baby yawn. "I was once invited to a fasting contest with the Dali Lama. Neither one of us slept, nor did we eat. I would've beaten him too, if it wasn't for the fact that it would've lost him considerable face -- given a form of dishonor," he clarified for Travis and any Siiruu who were interested.

"Come on up," Travis said. "I've got this game, like nothing you've ever seen before." Malcolm raised an eyebrow, and wondered if Mayweather had any inkling of how many games Reed had seen. "It'll take your mind off things," Travis said, trying to help out.

"A game?" Malcolm asked, doing his level best not to laugh. "What sort of a game can do that?" To his mind, only Hoshi recovered could have such an effect.

The game, Travis told him, was one that Boomers had developed into a board game with a rulebook...though he didn't doubt that it preceeded Mankind's expansion into space. "Even T'Pol's agreed to play."

Further discussion was prevented by the sound of human feet approaching. Many human feet. Not enough to outnumber or even equal the scores of Siiruu who were present by now...but enough to take Malcolm into custody.

And Malcolm didn't doubt that that was their intention -- not with Trip Tucker leading them forth.

"You had a chance," Trip said. "We're placing you under arrest. You can come easy, or we can do our impression of a bar-room brawl."

Malcolm had to give Trip credit for one thing, at least: not succumbing to being completely cliched.

Hoshi coughed, a sound that shook Malcolm's senses. She was back!! "Mal-col-lm?" Hoshi asked for, in a weak and broken-up voice.

Just then, the ground shook. Not even a 1.1 earthquake, but a tremor they could all feel. Though their instincts screamed for them to fly to safety, all of the Siiruu kept their feet on the ground. Similarly, the Humans and Denobulan also ignored their own instincts.

Then, before everyone's eyes, something happened to the rock that Hoshi's hand lay upon: water sprang up from under it, flowing down the stonefaces.

Malcolm was afraid that the Siiruu would want to keep Hoshi for themselves...their own prophet, or deity. No matter how much Malcolm wanted to worship her all by himself.

A Siiruu, a young-she by the look of her emerald featherys, addressed Malcolm: "You may take her to your roost."

The new-he from earlier, new-he looked at Trip with the look that new-his kind used for their smiles. "You may go now," new-he said. ****

~~~  
HOSHI'S PAST:  
  
Mayan pyramids to all sides of us, the tour guides not running today for tourists. This is where he said to meet him. But where is he?

"Where are we?" Elisabeth asked, looking at the mammoth stone building in front of us.

I check our location with the map. "The Pyramid of the Magician."

"Please don't tell me we have to walk up all those stairs," Elisabeth begs. Based on the sound of her voice, I'd guess that her eyes are wide at the sight of all those stairs. According to the travel brochure, each of the four sides has an equal number of stairs; and when you add up the total number of stairs, you have the number of days in the year.

"Well, I would have prefered a witness," Malcolm says; me and Elisabeth jump a little, since he did sneak up on us. "But you can stay down here if you like."

"It's safe?" she asks.

Malcolm nods. "Completely." To me, "Shall we ascend?"

"Sure," I say.

"But no funny business!" Elisabeth says.

Malcolm gives her a look that says 'who, me?'

So we go up the stairs, just me and Malcolm. He's carrying a sachel on his shoulder, and he won't tell me what's in it. Alls I'm carrying is my backpack; which would be empty, were it not for my camera in it. I'm not sure how long it took for us to reach the summit of this pyramid: after a while, I just focused on taking one more step, then another...one after another.

Finally, we reach the top, and the both of us, we sit down and gasp for breath. We get our second or third wind . . . And then IT happened!:

The sun performed it's annual trick -- and I miss it, because just then, Malcolm reaches into his sachel and holds out his fist.

I uncurl each finger, one by one. . . And see what he had hidden:

Two golden rings, not blemished by fancy jewels or stones.

"You got -- They're just -- I, well --" I stammer. I think I stammered for a few minutes before saying "Yes!"

Malcolm didn't mind the stammering. He just smiled and knelt at my feet. "Mi'lady," he says, full of chivalry.  
 **  
~~~~  
LATER, ON ENTERPRISE:  
**  
It had taken some time, but Hoshi was finally recovered enough to hobble around on crutches. It wasn't that she didn't trust Phlox, but the thought of a bonesetter jellyfish wrapped around *any* part of her body...

"Shall I open the door for you, Musa?" Malcolm asked, envying the crutches their constantly-touching of his wife...and yet hating that the crutches were ever required.

"Malcolm, sweet," Hoshi said. "I didn't bring the water to the surface, so please stop calling me Moses."

Malcolm nodded, and waved his hand in front of the door, making it open for her. "As you wish," unwittingly quoting the movie 'The Princess Bride'.

"Over here, over here!" Travis invited them to a table. Malcolm sat down, after helping Hoshi sit down...despite Trip's presence at the table. "Now, about that game I mentioned..."

"I thought you said T'Pol was going to play as well," Malcolm asked.

Travis shrugged. "Something urgent appearantly came up."

Trip snickered. "I bet."

Shrugging, Travis shuffled the deck of cards. "Each card has a question," he explained. "Everyone but the person who draws the card has to answer the question."

"What's the point then?" Trip asks, not getting it.

"Well, if you don't have an answer, then you don't have to answer," Travis said. He set the deck down. "I'll show you..." he motioned for Hoshi to draw the first card of the game.

"'Favorite place...on Earth'," she quoted.

"University of Delhi," Malcolm said with a smile on his face.

"Grandma Tucker's house," Trip said. When Travis didn't say anything, Trip said "C'mon, Travis, answer the question."

"That's what I was saying. I don't have a favorite place on the Earth -- it's in space. Therefore, I can't answer...and I get a point."

"Do I get a point?" Hoshi asked.

Travis shook his head. "Dealers aren't allowed to answer, whether they have one or not."

"Oh."

He shrugged, then picks up the next card. "Oh, good one; 'most awkward relative'."

"Emperor Hirohito," Hoshi says.

"Dowager Empress," Malcolm says.

"Empress of where?" Trip wants to know. "The question -"

"Didn't specify a living relative," Malcolm answered. "And the answer is China."  
~~~  
End

**Author's Note:**

> the expression 'for when a person is unsuccessful at becoming intimate with another'. (thanks to the book AFRICAN PROVERBS AND WISDOM: A Collection for Every Day of the Year, From More Than Forty African Nations by Julia Stewart.


End file.
